Jessica sat up suddenly in her bed, her heart racing as she bordered on hyperventilating. As she gulped for air, she looked rapidly around the room in an effort to calm herself.

Five things you can see. The slightly open window. The scrapbook. The alarm clock reading 5:55 am. The glass of water she always had on her nightstand no matter where she was. Michael asleep next to her.

Four things you can hear. The birds outside. The hum of the white noise machine Michael brought everywhere. Michael asleep next to her. Her own breathing.

Three things you can feel. The luxurious sheets on the bed. Her wedding band. Michael asleep next to her (for he always seemed to be touching her while he slept).

Two things you can smell. The fresh sea air. Michael asleep next to her (and her favorite cologne he wore).

One thing you can taste. Teeth that drastically needed to be brushed.

Jessica giggled that Michael was nowhere to be found in her assessment of taste, her heart much lighter than it had been when she first awoke.

Her fitness tracker began to vibrate, indicating it was time to get out of bed. Careful not to wake up her husband, Jessica climbed out of bed and scurried to the bathroom to get ready to meet the couple she had spoken to the day before.